


A Waking Nightmare

by lorb



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-05 16:32:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15174791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorb/pseuds/lorb
Summary: After the incidents at Sidewinder, no one is quite the same. But Grif's fears follow him into his sleep causing him to have night terrors that wake him up screaming. With the help of Simmons, he makes it through the first ordeal only to be greeted with a second, more horrifying terror. With a lot of patience and perseverance, one must fight to keep their newfound love alive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of my old fic Night Terrors which was published on tumblr and fanfiction.net. The FF.net account was Laurenlizabeth. The story is the same, but has been updated to be more descriptive. I have the full rights to be rewriting/copying this story.

The first time it happened to him, Grif woke up in total panic. The growling that resembled more of a chainsaw than a man was still ringing in his ears. His body was cold, yet covered in sweat. He couldn’t stop shivering, not sure if it was the cold or the fear that caused it. There was a sound; someone was screaming. Grif turned to look at Simmons only to find that he was already staring at him, concern and fear on his face. It registered in his brain that it was him who was screaming. The new knowledge allowed him to stop and instead switch to incredibly labored breathing.

There was a sound in the hallway, like something hitting the wall. And then Sarge was there, holding his rifle, Donut peered around the door. Grif didn’t know what was worse; the embarrassment at his screaming or the actual worry in Sarge’s face.

“Is everything alright in here, boys?” Sarge had the rifle pointed in the small room, undeniably aimed at Grif. He had definitely fallen asleep watching Invasion of the Body Snatchers again. Simmons shook his head quickly so Sarge lasered his focus in on Grif.

With an agitated shift of his mass, Grif grunted and lay with his eyes closed until he was sure everyone had gone back to their own rooms. After a moment he heard Simmons bed creak and the shuffling of his tired feet across the floor.

“Grif are you ok?” Simmons voice was directly beside him. He must have been kneeling next to the bed.

“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep Simmons.” Grif didn’t bother turning to face him, if he had Simmons would have seen the tears on his face. He hoped that Simmons couldn’t hear the residual fear in his voice.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks post the incident, the team’s worry for Grif subsided to pure frustration at loss of sleep. It was like clockwork; every night they would retire to bed, and then within two hours they would be woken up from Grif’s tortured screams. Donut had tried wrapping a pillow around his head, but he still woke up. Sarge had taken to sleeping in the mess, but it was making him more of a grumpy old man than usual. Everyone suffered due to Grif’s pain.

After brushing, flossing, and inspecting for food particles, Simmons entered his shared bunk to find Grif worrying the back of his neck.

“I can’t sleep.” He didn’t look up.

“You haven’t even laid down yet, you can’t definitively say it isn’t possible if you haven’t tried.” But Simmons knew what he meant.

“No, idiot. I can’t **go** to sleep. I’m…” Grif rolled his head to look at the ceiling. “Afraid.” He looked back at Simmons to see his reaction. “But if you fucking tell **any** of them I will hit you so hard Simmons. I will hit you so hard your grandchildren will still have bruises.” Simmons put his hands up.

“Why do you think-”

“I’m not some basket case to be analyzed.” Grif snapped.

“Right, right… you’re just afraid of sleep.” Simmons laughed a little.

“This isn’t a joke, Simmons.” There was something to Grif’s defeated tone that Simmons knew he was asking for help.

“Well… is it dreams? Do you remember what you were dreaming right before you wake up, or do you just wake up afraid?”

“Both. Sometimes I wake up and am still stuck in the memory entirely and other times I wake myself up screaming and sweating.”

“I promise you, the sweat is normal, man. You really need to lose some weight. Do my organs a fucking favor.”

“Fuck off, it’s different.” He frowned. “I could break you, just by sitting on you.”

“Because you’re that fat!” Simmons’ voice cracked indignantly. Grif smiled. It had been awhile since they had had their usual back and forth banter. Simmons smiled softly, sizing up his partner. “What if I just watch over you tonight? I can just tap into the cybernetics and run off the cyborg energy tomorrow. You’ll be safe. I mean, you’re always safe here, but maybe you’ll feel more safe.” Grif didn’t seem convinced. “We can at least try it. I promise I won’t sleep.”

“You want me to plug you in?” Grif smirked.

“Shut up and go to sleep before I change my mind and just make you sleep on a rock outside.” Simmons threw a pillow down next to Grif’s bed and sat upon it. Grif grumbled, but he pulled the covers up and tried to get comfortable.

“Hey Simmons?”

“Mmm?” Simmons looked up. Grif had never noticed the brown specks in Simmons’ eye, or how emotive his brow was. It raised in curiosity at Grif’s question.

“Thanks man.” Grif pulled himself back to the surface. Simmons gave a half smile then reached over and grabbed a book to read through the night. Grif closed his eyes reluctantly. Try as he might to avoid sleep, it overtook him quickly. There was no messing around. He immediately found himself crawling around Sidewinder. There was a tug at his ankle and suddenly he was flying across the snow hurtling toward the cliff.

“I’m here, you’re safe.” Simmons’ metal hand was on Grif’s sweat soaked chest. Both of Grif’s hands clasped on and his breathing began to normalize. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe.”

 

* * *

 

Things carried on in this manner for a few nights, but everyone could tell that it was wearing on Simmons. Grif acknowledged that Simmons needed sleep, in a bed, hopefully uninterrupted. They were both wary as Simmons crawled into his own bed across the small room. Grif had managed to stop screaming, but the night terrors still came every night. But now he would wake up and clutch Simmons’ hand and relax to the sound of his voice. Yet here they were, not sure if they were ready for the real test. Could the soldier make it through the night with only his nightmares?

A sound closer to a chainsaw than a voice chased after him and Grif watched the crimson blood trickle through the once white snow. He was hiding from the Meta, but his labored breathing gave him away. The massive ex-agent was lead straight towards his safe spot, quickly losing its safety. _Oh god, oh god._

“Hrrrgggehggg….” Grif couldn’t decide if it was safer to run or pray the Meta would walk past him. If his heart beat were any louder it could have woken the dead. The curved knife snuck from above the rock Grif was hiding behind and into his helmet, bringing him straight to consciousness in the dark bunk.

With several fast and deep intakes of breath, Grif sat straight up, “Simmons, Simmons!” He almost cried, his hand groping into the darkness for his friend who was not there. Faster than he had probably moved in years, Grif was next to Simmons’ bed, nudging his fellow soldier over so he could get beside him in the bed.

His breathing was frantic and eyes stung, but the moment one scrawny arm reached around the large Hawaiian man’s chest he felt the panic start to subside.

“I’m right here, you fat coward.” Simmons pulled him in tighter, knowing the pressure made him feel better. “Afraid of your fucking dreams, getting in my bed… Who’s the loser now, loser?”

“Still you.” Grif said on the output breath in his panic. The metal arm reached under Grif’s neck and the calculated fingers began to brush through his long knotted hair, each stroke calming Grif down more.

Grif had an internal wager on how long he would keep getting up and invading Simmons bed. He gave it two weeks. Coincidentally enough, two weeks was the right bet, but it didn’t end the way he thought it would. In his mind, he would get over his fears and be stable enough to sleep through the night in his own bed. Rather, Simmons invited Grif into his bed.

“It’s just, easier. Rather than wake me up, just start here. Logically, it just makes sense.” Simmons seemed to be convincing himself.

“Yeah, sure. That makes sense.” Grif couldn’t deny that it did make sense. But as he clambered into the bed he saw the way Simmons face turned red. Simmons noticed the way Grif was looking at him and reached across Grif to turn off the light.

Grif liked the way it felt to lay beside him. He had thought about before, in passing mostly. Hey, it was lonely being a soldier. But the thoughts didn’t really match up with the feelings of serenity that overtook him. They were both side sleepers and it meant that some mornings they would wake up face to face; Simmons curled up as tight as he could in a ball and Grif with his legs only slightly bent. Those were the mornings he loved, waking up and looking at Simmons. It was one of the few times Simmons didn’t look stressed. He was peaceful and relaxed.

But now, falling asleep beside each other, Grif watched the way Simmons methodically fluffed his pillow and turned first one way, then the other. Suddenly their eyes met and Simmons looked peaceful again. He smiled a bit, caught himself, and flipped to face the wall. 

There was a change in their relationship after that point. Simmons started taking absences from Grif, but Grif could always feel his eyes on him. It made him feel cocky and wanted. During the day their relationship seemed strained, but at night it grew and grew. Grif could tell the difference in Simmons’ smiles. Some were truly carefree, and some seemed calculated, and some still felt wistful. And all of them were reserved for Grif.

They lie in the bed one night, Simmons with his longing smile and Grif going on and on about his teammates and sporting one of his most comfortable smiles.

“You know, I have to wonder if Donut **means** for things to come out the way they do or if he honestly doesn’t mean to say the gayest things I’ve ever heard.” Grif raised his hands in defeat and looked to Simmons for his input. His expressive brow was tightly wound up and his jaw was locked. Grif laughed at his consternation. “You look like you either haven’t shit in a month or you just shit yourself. And I’m hoping it’s the first one because otherwise you’re getting the fuck out of our bed.”

“Grif! I, ugh… Grif I think I need to tell… I’m-” Simmons sputtered.

“Hey Simmons, shut the fuck up, I know.” Grif pressed his bloated hand over his eyes, groaning internally. Grif had known it for a while, and he had noticed that Simmons had realized it too. But he also wasn’t so sure that Simmons was ready for this revelation.

“I don’t think you know. You can’t know.” Simmons shook his head heartily.

“I know that you’re gay as dicks for me.” Grif uncovered his eyes and rolled them to look at Simmons.

“Listen, I’m not, there is no way, I’m not gay. And! If I were I’d do a lot better than, I’m not even, Grif! It’s your fault!” Grif just sat through Simmons tirade. “I am not ga… I. Yeah. I fucking am. I’m fucking gay for you, you fat ass.” Simmons looked down into Grif’s eyes, fear showing through, as though he was worried Grif would hit him or leave.

“Same, kiss ass.” Grif strained his neck forward to place one kiss on Simmons’ lips. So much pent up emotion came through and Simmons melted into the kiss. Through the night they explored what it meant to love your best friend.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rewrite of my old fic Night Terrors which was published on tumblr and fanfiction.net. The FF.net account was Laurenlizabeth. The story is the same, but has been updated to be more descriptive. I have the full rights to be rewriting/copying this story.

The night terrors began to subside, but it didn’t change their sleeping arrangements. Simmons would fit himself into the curve of Grif’s body, sometimes burying his head into his chest. But whenever Grif found himself back in the place of his nightmares, the positions were quickly reversed. Simmons would hold Grif and whisper to the shaking, terrified man. Somehow, he could make himself seem so much larger and become a shield for Grif’s fears.

It certainly wasn’t an ideal start to a relationship but it was theirs and they wouldn’t change it for anything.

The rest of red team didn’t need to be told that the two were together. It was obvious in the disappearances. No one would have blinked twice about Grif going missing, but when Simmons started making off the wall excuses coinciding with Grif’s “naps” even Sarge started putting two and two together. It wasn’t really shame that kept the two quiet, there was just no need to come out. 

“We can’t lie to our superior officer! We have to tell everyone. I just don’t know how.” Of course, that didn’t stop Simmons from worrying. Grif looked at him, leaning up on his pillow with his brow furrowed. Grif noticed that his cyborg eye seemed to be flickering a bit but figured it wasn’t the time to bring it up.

“Well, Simmons. We ought to just have raging sex in the mess hall when they’re trying to eat. Then everyone will know.” Grif gave a roguish smile.

“Grif!” Simmons sank into the pillow and crossed his arms.

“Hey maybe it’ll get you off. Public sex could get that motor running.” Simmons scoffed at Grif’s reply and rolled over.

“I don’t have a fucking motor, asshole. It’s a circuit system that hooks up all my cybernetic org-” 

“It gets  _ my  _ motor running when you talk nerdy.” Grif sloppily kissed the pale, freckled skin on the back of Simmons’ neck.

“Go to sleep, and if you really need to clutch onto me at some point, try not to grab any of the cyborg parts? You sweat like a pig and you’re going to short circuit me.” Simmons swatted at Grif’s hands as they reached to grab at his chest.

“I’m going to clutch something alright.” Grif laughed and Simmons sighed, letting him grope. He kissed Grif’s arm and held on tight. The night terrors didn’t dare come between them.

 

The next morning, paranoid fear set Sarge to send his men to spy on the blues despite their current truce.

“This is fucking stupid. The blues never do anything, they’re just standing around doing the same nothing shit we do, except they don’t have to spy on us because their leader isn’t a fucking dumbass.” Grif exhaled.

“Grif, you don’t have to agree with him, but you really should respec-pec-pec-pect Sarge.” Simmons, hearing himself stopped in his tracks. 

“Woah! What’s wrong with you Simmons?” Donut questioned.

“Nothing, what the f-f-fuck, the fuck, fuck is wrong with you D-D-Donut.” Simmons face betrayed his statement. He cut off Donut in the response forming in his throat, “Yes, I heard-d-d myself, self, myself, my. I don’t know-ow-ow-ow-ow-”

“Oh man, I love that song!” Donut began to hum along to the supposed song.

“Shut up Donut!” Grif got closer to Simmons, “You alright, man?”

“My circuitryyyyyyyy is m-messing up-up-up-up.” Simmons cautioned a guess. His metal arm smacked out wildly, barely missing Grif.

“Woah!” Grif took a step back.

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. It wassssssn’t me.”

“Maybe we should go back to Sarge, he a robot expert. He can get you fixed!” Donut suggested.

“Yeah, I’ll go b-b-b-b-back. But you two, you, but two stay h-h-h-ere. Sarge’ll lose it if he he he he he thinks we’re disssssssssobeying order-der-der-ders.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just go figure it out.” Grif grabbed Simmons shoulder, holding on long enough to convey his concern and make sure Simmons understood he was saying  _ I love you, get better.  _

After a pop over to blue base for Tucker to give Grif a new fill on booze and crack some jokes, the men made their way back to red base.

“Hey Sarge, we’re back! Did you miss us?!” Donut called as they entered. 

Grif wasted no time by reporting back to his leader and instead searched for Simmons. He entered the barracks hall and turned into his and Simmons room to see the man facing the bed in only his briefs. The silver of his cyborg arm, and leg glinted as though they might have been polished. Grif barely noticed, his eyes going straight to Simmons’ ass.

He wrapped one arm around Simmons’ torso, “Waiting for me?”

In a movement so unlike the bumbling ginger soldier, Simmons slammed Grif into the wall, his metal arm pressed against his neck. Grif kicked feebly at Simmons, fighting to be let down. Simmons pulled his arm back but stayed in his threatening position.

“Listen, I know I normally like it rough, but that’s taking it way too far.” Grif coughed, holding onto his throat. “Seriously, what the fuck Simmons?” 

In response, Simmons eyes scanned over Grif. Grif had never felt so exposed and uncomfortable yet how many times had those same eyes taken in his body before? Something was severely wrong. 

“Who are you?” Simmons voice was clinical. Grif looked at him, laughing but annoyed. “I said, who the  _ fuck  _ are you.”

“What are you even getting at Simmons. This isn’t funny, knock it off.” There was a finality to Grif’s voice. A pleading for normalcy.

“ _ Who are you?”  _ There was no normalcy here. Grif’s eyes widened. He pushed his way past Simmons and stormed out of the room and into the base on a mission. 

“ **Sarge! You factory reset my boyfriend!”**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately my spanish is limited to google translate! I tried to use short straight forward phrases for Lopez but it may still be a little garbled.  
> Again, this is a rewrite of a fanfic I published in 2015 called Night Terrors written under the name LaurenLizabeth on fanfiction.net. The plot is 90% the same, but with an update to the descriptors and actions. The ending has gone through a change though so I'm exciting to share that with you!
> 
> Glad everyone is liking it so far! Always feel free to leave a comment and I'll get back to you shortly!

Sarge barely graced Grif with an acknowledgement when Grif burst through the base doors to find him working on Lopez. He looked up, grunted, then went back to work.

“I didn’t think it was target practice time yet, is it, Lopez?” Sarge leaned back to grab his rifle, sitting by his side.

“ Me dijiste que siempre es el tiempo de práctica objetivo cuando él está aquí.”

“A simple no senor would do, Lopez.” Sarge faced Grif, who was still sputtering from his encounter. “Well, what d’ya want dirtbag?”

“You! You broke Simmons! Fix him!” Grif stomped his foot for emphasis. Anything inspiring him to do more work clearly meant he was upset.

“I already did. He isn’t jerkin’ and jabbin’ anymore is he? Or stu-stu-stuttering?”

“No, but-”

“Then he’s fixed. Now let me work on our grade A robot here since I wasted all morning working on our grade C robot. I stole some of his parts to give to Lopez here, I’m thinkin’ that maybe we can change him from senor roboto to Mr. robot!” Sarge knocked on Lopez’s head.

“Nunca le pregunté por esto.” Lopez apparently said to the room since no one even responded.

“Put it back then! He just choked the shit out of me.” Grif pointed to his still throbbing neck.

“Hoo boy! I really did fix him then didn’t I! Watch out Lopez, it looks like you have competition for best robot!” Sarge clapped his knee and laughed. “I’m only kidding, of course you’re the best robot. I built ya with my own two hands!” Lopez muttered something under his breath.

“Sarge! For once, listen to me. You have to fix him. He tried to kill me!”

“What in sam hell do ya want me to do? I ain’t no match maker! Introduce yourself, get to know the new Simmons. Simmons 2.0!” Sarge spread his hands across in front of his face, then reconsidered. “Cyborg Simmons was Simmons 2.0, so this is Simmons 3.0, the best version. Since he tried to kill Grif without even being asked!” Sarge let out a hardy laugh then cracked open Lopez’s helmet to get to work inserting whatever it was he took from Simmons.

“Thanks for the advice,  _ Seventeen  _ magazine! Just introduce yourself… great advice.” Grif grumbled off.  _ Just introduce yourself,  _ It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Maybe he could remind Simmons who he was. Maybe he could remind Simmons who Simmons was. He couldn’t believe he was about to take Sarge’s goddamn advice. He wound his way through the base to find Simmons’ quarters.

Simmons had all of his armor on except for his helmet. Grif removed his, hoping the eye to eye contact would improve something. He coughed to get his attention.

“Hey, I’m sorry…. About earlier. Apparently you don’t remember this, but we have a …. Special relationship. I didn’t know you didn’t have your memories. I’m Dexter Grif.” God it felt so wrong. How could you start over day one with someone who was your whole life?

“Dick Simmons. I guess I’m sorry too.” Simmons offered his hand and the two shook. “But don’t it get it fucking twisted! Don’t you ever,” his voice squeaked, “touch me like that again.” His face was getting red and Grif couldn’t stop the immediate thoughts,  _ He’s so fucking adorable when he gets worked up.  _ “But! Sorry. For the wall thing. And the neck thing.”

“Hey, I liked the hustle. It was pretty damn hot if I had half suspected it coming. You better remember it later, less pillow prince… Yeah ok.” Grif watched Simmons face contort to confusion than a shade of disgust. It hurt like a fucking bitch.  _ Make him remember.  _ “Dinner’s up, I’ll introduce you to everyone else. If you fucking like Donut, I swear to god, I am shipping you out to be a goddamn blue.” 

Grif led the way, trying to cue him in on certain aspects, such as that Simmons was the nerd and he was the fat ass. It was there thing. They were an opposites attract kind of deal. They filled each other out. Where Grif was lethargic and avoided work at all costs, Simmons kept him in line and at least semi useful. And where Simmons was an overthinker and could panic about anything, Grif kept a cool head and protected him from his own mind.

The introductions were had and dinner was served. For once, Grif didn’t touch his food. He brought up every memory he could think of: their first meeting at basic, the complete insanity of blue base nonsense, how Grif carried Simmons’ organs. Slowly, everyone retired to bed leaving Simmons and Grif in the Mess. For Grif’s credit, Simmons was utterly enraptured. He couldn’t believe the stories Grif would recount.

“We seriously stole a UNSC pelican?” Grif could hear the awe and distrust Simmons was feeling for himself. This other Simmons who was somehow more ballsy and wild then the preprogrammed straight laced no nonsense Simmons 3.0. Grif couldn’t believe there was someone who made Simmons look like a chill person.

“Yeah, we fucking did! It was awesome, dude!” Grif leaned back, smiling wide. “Man, we got into some crazy shit. I prefer the relaxed bitching about our team gig we had going before this, but when you get back up to par, we can do whatever you want. I’d steal a thousand pelicans if that’s what you want.”

“Hey, Grif?” Simmons frowned, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know that we should. I feel… good. Maybe this is my chance to make an actual change in this war and be the hero I apparently so wanted to be. I can’t do that if I’m slobbing around with the laziest soldier in red army history.”

“What fucking war? What fucking red army history? Man it was all a bunch of shit.” Grif scowled.

“Maybe so, but I’ll find another war. You wouldn’t go along with me, you’re much too content doing nothing and letting the world pass you by. You’d rather fuck everything up than make a positive impact.”

“Well, don’t fucking hold back.”

“Well it’s true. I don’t know how you haven’t been hanged for insubordination or sent home on dishonorable discharge.”

“I’m just not lucky enough. Instead I’m sitting here arguing with you when I could be with someone who was an actual friend and not just a fucking placeholder!” Grif paused. It wasn’t true in the slightest. Maybe he had been lucky enough to be drafted to meet his soulmate. “I just got worked up. You’re my friend, Dick. You’re my  **only** friend.”  _ And a lot more than that.  _ “We should get to sleep, Sarge’ll wake us up stupid early I’m sure.”

They made their way back to the shared quarters. Simmons turned his back and removed his armor, Grif trained his eyes on his body. He absentmindedly got out of his own armor and into pajamas. Going through those memories had made Grif realize that the Night Terrors had not made him fall in love. Simmons had. From day fucking one. 

Maybe not day one, but every part of Simmons had been slowly filling into Grif’s heart, his fear of heights, the way his voice cracked when he got upset, how selfless he could be when he wanted to. All of that had always been there, and Grif’s feelings had just been masking themselves in fear of rejection. It was just that the Night terrors had provided a very physical outlet to let them explore what their feelings had meant.

Simmons left to go the bathroom, leaving Grif lost in his thoughts. He crawled into bed and closed his eyes.

“Ugh, Grif?” He could hear Simmons from across the room, “I know we enjoyed our talk, but could you maybe get out of my bed?”  _ Shit. _

“So, ugh, this is my bed. I haven’t slept in that bed in maybe a year.” Simmons still stood looking confused.

“Then why is all of my stuff over your bed?” His brow furrowed in a way that made Grif feel giddy inside, despite the discomfort he knew was coming.

“Ok, so… remember when I said we had a special relationship? And then about how I was groping you when I walked in? We’re kind of  **together** , Simmons.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny smartass. I’m not gay though.” Simmons rolled his eyes. “And even if I were, I wouldn’t be with you. Sorry, man, but you’re… how do I put this…. Disgusting, lazy, messy, and just, well, you’re gross Grif!” He folded his arms and looked away.

“Yeah, but you love that about me! I even out your uptight, panicky ass, bullshit!”

“Grif,” Simmons rubbed his forehead. “Just get in your bed. I don’t want to deal with this tonight.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever. But I’m not fucking joking. You love me and my gross ass and I’m going to figure out how to prove it to you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per the rest, this is the rewrite of a fic I wrote and published on fanfiction.net! 
> 
> This is a short chapter but I should be posting the next installment very shortly!

The bed felt empty as he tossed and turned trying to avoid any thoughts of nightmares. Normally, he would be trying to sidestep memories of the Meta, but instead he was trying to dodge all the thoughts of loneliness that he could feel creeping into his future. Just as slowly, with no notable beginning, Grif fell back into his familiar nightmares.

Blood ran through the snow. He grasped at his own body checking for any wet spots or shocks of pain. This time, it wasn’t his blood. He followed the trail,  _ Please don’t be Simmons, God please don’t let it be him.  _ Donut’s body hit the ground in front of him; he could recognize the sounds of his screams as they echoed over the radio in his helmet.

“Aw, fuck man! Donut!” Grif gasped, feeling the familiar, yet still paralyzing, terror. He rushed to Donut’s side, grabbing onto his shoulders. There was so much blood, too much. “I’m sorry!” Grif sobbed, still hearing Donut’s cries.

“Grif! Grif, don’t….go… grif…” Donut’s voice fell in a decrescendo as his life slipped away. Grif lowered his head to the ground. His pink helmet slathered in deep red blood, stark against the pure white snow. But behind him, the original blood trail beckoned to him. He had to know, was Simmons ok?

His worst fears were confirmed when he recognized the maroon armor at the end of the line. There was blood coming from the leg that dragged behind him. Grif watched as he turned to look at him.  Simmons fell into the snow.

“Grif!” He strangled out. “Grif, I think I’m hurt… I… Grif, you have to help me…” Simmons’ voice rose and fell in soft waves that knocked Grif down like a hurricane. He ran toward him. Simmons reached one hand up toward the orange soldier before it fell limp in the snow.

His eyes stung with regret and fear, his labored breathing fogged his visor until he couldn’t see anymore. With a jarring motion he ripped his own helmet off. His hair fell around his face in thick, dark, cascades. His hands shook as they sought out wounds on the body that was more familiar than his own.

“Oh, fuck, Simmons, there’s a lot. I can’t fix this! I can’t, Simmons! GodDAMMIT. I can’t fix you! There’s too much blood, you’re too…” Simmons lifted his hand again, this time toward his own helmet but he was too weak to remove it. “No, no…” Grif whined as he lifted his shaking hands to Simmons’ own. Grif removed Simmons’ helmet, taking it with such care, one hand ready to cradle his head once it was free. God, he was so pale. There was not a pigment of color on his face. “Dick, you can’t do this! Stop it! Come on! We have so much left to do! Simmons… Simmons!” The last instance of color, the red of his cyborg eye, faded out while his other eye searched Grif’s face for any inkling of hope. Not finding it, Simmons eye flashed fear before it went totally blank, staring glassy at Grif. “ **FUCK! NO.** Simmons,  **SIMMONS!”**

Sitting straight up in his bed, Grif’s voice called into the darkness. His body was covered in sweat and his face was dripping with tears. “Don’t… don’t….” He sobbed, holding onto himself.

There was no forewarning to the blow that came at him, a hand wrapped around his neck pulling him onto the floor of the barracks. Grif looked up to see Simmons’ standing over him, breathing hard with his brow lowered. “What the fuck, Grif! It’s one thing to wake me up touching yourself, but you have to be saying my name? My  **name** Grif?!” His voice dripped with disgust.

Grif let out a sob; from one nightmare to another. “Dick…” He whined, sitting up. “I wasn’t… I’m not, Simmons! It was a dream, please-”

“Yeah, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Everyone was dying Simmons! I watched you die…” Grif was afraid to meet Simmons’ eyes.

“Just, go to bed Grif.” Simmons grabbed his pillow and blanket and left their shared barrack, leaving Grif on the floor sobbing.

Within an hour, Grif gained the composure to lie in bed, though he was too afraid to go back to sleep. Eyes glued to the ceiling, he knew he needed a plan. He would get Simmons back as soon as he could. He couldn’t shake the horror of the total lack of compassion in the eyes that used to love and care for him. He would make this right. He would fix this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the next installment quickly!  
> This is a rewrite of my old fic Night Terrors published on fanfiction.net and Tumblr!

In the morning, Grif showered and tidied himself up as best as he possibly could. If he was going to woo Simmons, he needed to do it right. Trumping into the mess Grif looked around for his target. 

“Simmons! Sarge assigned me to making sure you know all about camp, let’s go.” He knew he needed a good reason to get Simmons to do anything with him after last night. Donut looked at him, clearly confused, but he kept quiet.

“I know the base.” Simmons looked up begrudgingly.

“Yeah, well… orders are orders.”  Simmons rolled his eyes, stood and took his trash away. It left Donut and Grif.

“Whatever you’re doing, I am behind you one hundred percent! I am giving you anything you want from any angle you want! Get Simmons back!” Donut rose nobly. 

“Yeah, I think we’ll be ok.” Grif had a plan, this would work.

“I have very little faith in you so I will make my own plan! You know people called me Cupid for more reasons than just that I looked good in only a diaper.” God Grif wished he could tell Simmons about that right this instant. Well, he could, but there would be no familiar joy in it. They wouldn’t laugh the usual way and they wouldn’t keep staring at each other after laughing, and Simmons wouldn’t call him some stupid mocking insult that they had long ago translated into loving pet names. 

“So a tour of the base?” Simmons broke between him and Donut.

“Ugh, yeah. And beyond. Sarge really wanted to make sure that you knew where everything was.” Grif piled it on, hoping that he wouldn’t be caught in his lie. “So you know this is the mess, and you’re clearly aware where the barracks are. And really, that’s all you need to know. Sleep, food: good.” Grif walked away, allowing Simmons to stay a pace or so behind him. He didn’t care about the base, he just needed to get him out to the landmarks they had made their own. 

“This is the warthog!” Grif said when they finally made it to their first designated spot. He was starting to sweat,  _ what the fuck? _ He never got nervous.

“I’m familiar.” Simmons was droll. 

Grif looked around the machine, letting out a little ‘ah’ when he found what he was looking for. “Are you familiar with this!” He pointed at a small etching above the back tire well.

After having a romp in the back of the warthog, Grif lit a cigarette, watching Simmons put his clothes and armor back on. He lay in the grass with his pants barely on, enraptured by Simmons awkward movements as he fussed about the wrinkles. 

“God, I love your gorgeous metal ass.” Grif spoke around the cigarette, reaching up lazily even though Simmons’ ass was far out of reach.

“It’s part fax machine, you don’t have to lie to me.” Simmons turned around to secure his pants but Grif saw him blush anyway.

“I’m not lying. I love your gorgeous. Fax machine. Ass.” Grif punctuated each word for emphasis. He sat up and crossed his heart. “I’ll show you!” Grif shuffled through his pile of clothes and armor pulling out his standard issue pocket knife. He got to work scratching something into the warthog.

“Grif! Stop! That’s not yours to fuck with!” 

“Sh, shhh…” Grif allowed the burnt ends of the cigarette to fell into the grass as he finished up. “Ta da!” 

Simmons knelt next to him, “Oh my god. Grif!” He shrieked. Simmons’ face matched the color of his hair. On the warthog, carved for anyone with inquisitive eyes to see, was the phrase: I love Simmons’ fax ass. 

“We already fucked, why are you blushing now.” Grif kissed his cheek and hauled on the rest of his clothes and armor. He walked away leaving Simmons frozen at the sight, still mumbling in utter horror and embarrassment.

Now he stood watching as Simmons read the inscription. Simmons straightened up after mouthing out the words. His face was red but not in the cute you’re-making-me-flustered way but rather a you’re-embarrassing-both-of-us way. 

“Grif, what are you playing at?” He refused to look at his face.

“I’m proving it to you, that we have that special relationship.” Grif crossed his arms. “So there you go.”

“Just because you like my ass doesn’t mean shit, Grif!”

“But I know it’s part fax machine!” Grif had him now. 

“And so does Sarge! It isn’t classified information, Grif! Not to mention that our beds have always been next to each other! And! And anyone could have carved it! Lopez could be in love with my fax ass! You have no proof.” Simmons declared definitively.

Grif grumbled and pulled Simmons by the arm toward one of the cliffs surrounding the bases. He made Simmons promise to stay below while he climbed up to a ledge. God, just the sheer amount of physical activity should have been enough to prove to Simmons he cared about him. He stepped around the broken glass, and picked up as many scrolls of paper as he could find among the smashed bottles. Grif rained them down over Simmons’ head. He couldn’t hide his giant smile, this was some romance shit from one of Donut’s rom-coms. 

Simmons wasn’t one to drink, simply because he reacted terribly. He blacked out 90% of the time and he got weird and impulsive sometimes and tripled his panics other times. But somehow they had gotten him drunk and in an even more curious event he had managed to get atop the low cliff. When he sobered up a bit, his crushing fear of heights resurfaced.

“GrIF!” Simmons voice cracked through the night pulling Grif from the fire he and Tucker had going. Simmons may have sobered up but neither of them had.

“Where the fuck are you?” Grif laughed, holding one arm around Tucker and looking around incredulously. 

“I’m here!” Simmons’ voice rang out from seemingly nowhere. Grif looked to the stars.

“Dude, don’t fuck with aliens! Been there, done that. You don’t want to know how it ends.” Tucker warned, also looking at the sky suspiciously.

“You had a fucking kid, that’s where it ended.” Grif stared at Tucker before he broke off laughing.

“GRIF. I’m on the fucking ledge you fucking idiot! Get me the FUCK down.” Grif heard ‘ledge’ and that was about it.

“Why are you on the ledge, moron? You’re afraid of heights!” 

“Yeah I kind of noticed. Get, me, DOWN.” Simmons was breathing heavily. 

“Hey, hey calm down… Don’t get worked up, Simmons.” Grif felt a strike of fear. He couldn’t get up there, he couldn’t help Simmons out of a panic attack. He had to keep him calm from here or get him down now. “Tucker, get Caboose-”

“Caboose? Why do you need Caboose? Don’t get Caboose!” Simmons screeched. His breathing became faster and faster. Tucker took off toward Blue base.

“Just, think about.... I don’t know, filling out files? What’s your favorite paperwork to fill out?” Grif’s voice disappeared as he ran back toward the fire, he had a plan. When he got back Simmons was still breathing funny and Grif was fairly sure that he was crying.

“Aw shit, come on Simmons. Don’t do that!” Grif sat heavy in the grass and scrawled out little pieces of paper before stuffing them into the beer bottles he had returned with. He threw one high to make sure it cleared the ledge. Simmons screamed. The bottle shattered.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Grif launched another one. It broke. “Stop it!” Simmons cried out. Grif threw four more to the sounds of Simmons’ complaints. He paused, waiting for Simmons to read the papers.

_ You’ll be ok. We’ll get you down. Just breathe. I need you. Don’t worry- I know you’re worried, try to worry less. I love you. _

Simmons sighed, looked up at Grif on the ledge, and started to walk away. He seemed less agitated though.

“We got Caboose to carry you down, but reading the slips made you calm down in the meantime.” Grif prayed he would just stop walking away.

“You thought it’d be romantic to throw glass bottles at my head? I don’t even know if I’d want to be with you if I could remember it all.” Simmons barely stopped to say it over his shoulder.

Grif scrambled down, grabbing him by the shoulder before he could get too far away. He had one last stop planned.

“We can’t just walk into blue base, Grif.”

“Yeah we can, trust me. Wash won’t shoot, Caboose… might shoot. But we have to risk it. Come on.” Grif continued to haul. “Tucker!”

They found Tucker next to Washington, the two were bickering about something but Grif couldn’t be bothered to care right now. 

“Sarge let his Red team fraternize with the enemy?” Wash saw them first. His voice was amused.

“Man, I don’t have time for whatever bullshit you’ve got going on. But, Wash, what I was saying-” Tucker carried on before being interrupted. 

“Tucker, you know, about us, right?” Grif jumped back in.

“Whoa, are you two finally getting married? I think that means Donut wins the bet actually, fuck, I do not have that kind of money.” 

“See!” Grif gestured wildly with his hands.

“It doesn’t mean anything. Can we go back now?” Simmons crossed his arms.

“Tucker, will you just tell him he’s fucking gay.” 

“You’re gay. Damn, easiest order of the day.” Tucker’s smile was evident in his voice.

“Can you give him more details?”

“What is going on? What are you all doing over at Red Base?” Wash mused. 

“Yeah what is going on?” Tucker followed.

“Idiot over here got his brain wiped and he won’t believe me that we’re together.”  
“Oh, you’re together. You’re definitely gay, gay together, screwing often. I know because  this asshole doesn’t know how to keep his sex details under wrap when he’s even a little buzzed. Like, excruciating details of your sex life. Like, dents in fax asses details.”  

“Fax… asses?” Wash was lost. Simmons was getting lost, leaving as fast as he could.

“You don’t even want to know.” Tucker said to Wash then turned to Grif, “Good luck with all that.”

“Yeah… this was my best plan. I think I might have lost him.” Grif could feel the weight of his failure on him, crushing through the armor, crushing the heart that Simmons had so openly given him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section was the reason I wanted to rewrite Night Terrors in the first place. Because the original scene was just a laundry list of things Grif did prove to Simmons. I wanted to actually imagine the scenes themselves and I'm super happy with the way it all turned out! We have one more chapter left and that's where most of the changes from the rewrite happened.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter in a rewrite of a fic I published on fanfiction.net called Night Terrors!  
> For anyone who read the original, this is where most of the changes occurred. The ending had felt way too confusing and rushed so I simplified and helped it along in a more natural way.

Simmons got a new bed, preferring to sleep in Donut’s bunk. Grif couldn’t believe he was jealous of fucking Donut. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted Simmons to remember, he wanted to fill him with new memories, he wanted to hold Simmons as they drifted to sleep. He wanted Simmons back in his life; hell, even as friends! He would take whatever he could.

But everytime Grif got within ten feet of the maroon soldier, he found a reason to go twenty feet farther. Grif was drowning in his feelings. He was starved for his best friend. So when he heard the familiar metal clang of metal knuckles on metal door frames, he couldn’t believe it.

“Hey Grif.” Simmons didn’t enter the room.

“Hey Simmons.” Grif restrained himself from begging him for something, anything, that would put the two together.

“You look like shit.” Simmons surprised him. That was an old Simmons thing to say, not a new, unknown, stranger Simmons thing.

“I haven’t slept in three days. I mean, not well.”

“Yeah, I heard the screaming…” They let the moment stew, neither looking at the other. “Listen, I wanted to be the one to tell you. Apparently I owe you that at least.”

Grif waited, typical Simmons to clam up.

“Ok, so?”

“I’m leaving at sunrise tomorrow. I heard about a war on this planet, I think it might be the move for me. Change of pace, change of scenery.” He didn’t say change of company, but Grif could feel the implications.

“Yeah, sure.” Grif stood up. He didn’t want to cry in front of Simmons. “Don’t fucking die.” His voice got caught up on the words as he pushed past him. Their shoulders brushed for an instant. He held onto that single little touch, thinking about it as he downed the last of the whiskey next to Tucker late into the night.

“I just, I can’t believe he’s gone.” He groaned. Tucker clapped him on the back, trying his best to give some empathy to the heart broken red soldier.

“Hey he’s not gone yet. You probably still have an hour.” Tucker guessed since they had been drinking here for hours. Grif let out a loud sniff and Tucker braced himself for the uncomfortable sobs he knew would come. “Man, you could go, right now! You’re choosing to just let him go. I mean, I hate you guys, but I hate you being this fucking upset even more. You’re gonna let him leave?!”

“Yeah, I fucking am. You should have seen it! The way he looked at me, like I was, I don’t even know.” Grif tried to drink more, but there was nothing left to drink. “You know, he didn’t even look at me. Not really, he didn't  **see** me. And that,” Grif wagged a finger and hiccuped, “that is way worse. He doesn’t care anymore. He isn’t even Simmons. He’s just some stupid prick who looks like Simmons. Some dumbass robot who stole Simmons’ life. He isn’t Simmons, not any more. I need more booze!” Grif looked for more liquor.

“No man, you drank me out of my stash. I was nice and gave you the whiskey, the rest is mine and there isn’t much left.”

“Fine! Whatever, I’ll just…” Grif stood shakily, taking a timid step and looking like it might bowl him over. “I’ll just leave you all alone! That’s what we do now! Leave each other all alone!” He took a few more steps, swaying wildly to the right before regaining balance and going too far to the left. Tucker grimaced as he watched on.

“Do you want me to walk you back to the base?”

“Fuck you!” Grif held up an indignant middle finger, he grabbed onto the wall and made his way out of Blue base. The night hit him squarely in the face. He leaned on the outer wall and saw the sun in the very corner of the sky. “Fuck you sun!” He let his middle finger raise at it. The sun rose anyway. Grif slowly made his way across the field toward Red base.

“Fuck you fucking sun, you fucking prick ass fuck.” He slurred. “Fuck you Sarge! You fucked up Simmons. Fuck whatever bug fucked up Simmons. And hey, fuck you Simmons! FUCK YOU SIMMONS!” Grif was yelling at the top of his lungs now, tears streaming down his face. He fell to his knees. He couldn’t stop the sun, he couldn’t get Simmons to stay, he couldn’t get Simmons to love him again, what good was any of this anymore?

* * *

Simmons heard about the war on the planet through some garbled radio communication. He bet if he could just get out of here he could find something, anything to do. Anything to get away from this god forsaken base. He walked to Grif’s bunk, his old bunk. Sure enough Grif was there. He had to do it. He couldn't just disappear, as much as he wanted to. Grif deserved to know he was leaving.

He was thankful that Grif left as quickly as he did, he couldn’t stand to watch Grif fall apart because of him. He had tried to understand, had tried to see things from Grif’s point of view, but he couldn’t force himself to fall in love. He had tried. This would be best, he was sure… maybe not sure. But it was the only thing that he could think to do. It would be best for Grif, he wouldn’t torture him anymore with memories of things he would never get back.

Simmons gathered his belongings. Of the few personal items he apparently had, he had left in Grif’s bunk. He had only taken a few pairs of clothes to his room when he moved in with Donut so he was forced to gather things suffocated by reminders of Grif. He tried his best to avoid it but it was impossible. Going through his belongings he kept coming across shirts far too large to be his mixed in with his own things. Simmons wadded up the extra large white tank top and threw it across the room angrily. There was a cough from the doorway and Simmons didn’t bother to turn around.

“I tried!” His voice broke and he found himself with a furious heat in his face. “I really fucking did, okay? I don’t know why, but I can’t love you. I believe you, I believe I did love you when you show me all of this,” he gestured to their old shared space, “ but I can’t force it. It isn’t fair to you, and it’s not fair to me.” He had started to cry. “I’m sorry!”

“Have you tried telling him that?” Donut’s voice was soft. Simmons wiped his face to no avail, Donut saw as he sat on the bed in front of him. “Can I see your arm?” Donut grabbed the cyborg prosthetic. “Did you know you can record logs on this thing? I know because you always did it right before you went to bed and I’m always curious what happens in a man’s bed.”

Simmons looked at him, “So?”

“Try playing one from this last year.” Donut waited expectantly.

Simmons finangled with it until he managed to get the log running.

_Simmons log number 203. Um, nothing new to report. Sarge is still wary of-_ there was a snore in the background- _Oh Grif, you fucking mouth breather._ There was a pause and some grunting. _So Sarge is still wary of Washington but I think we’ll be ok. He’s just_ -Donut motioned to fast forward so Simmons did. _Simmons log number 205. I have a great idea! It’s called basebook, I don’t know what good it’ll be-_ Simmons’ log was cut off from screaming in the near vicinity. _Grif? Grif hey I’m right here. Come on, you big baby._ Was that, a kissing noise? _Yeah, come on, I’m right here, I promise we’re safe. I won’t let anything get to us. We’ll always be ok, right here._ **_Hey Simmons?_ ** _Yeah?_ **_I love you._ ** _I love you too. Let’s get back to sleep._

Simmons looked at a balled up orange sweatshirt he had pulled from his own belongings. “We need to find Sarge.”

“Actually, we need to find Lopez. I think he has something of yours, oooh Lopez! Dónde estás?!” Donut explained his knowledge as they went off to find the two they knew would be together. “See I first recognized he was saying ‘ayuadame’ over and over. And I remembered that that meant help me! He also kept saying ‘tomar sus recuerdos de vuelta,’ which seemed odd because I don’t know how a recipe about tomatoes was going to help him. Ah well, Lopez is like that sometimes!”

Oddly enough, it didn’t take much convincing to get Sarge to agree to the operation. “Now, I don’t make mistakes, but I think I could use a do over to make this even better.” Sarge gruffed. “Private Simmons, you may be a neurotic spazoid in love with a dirtbag when we’re done, but… you saved Private Grif and if I lose you, I’ll lose him too. That’s too much for an old man, soldier.” Sarge seemed kind for a moment before reverting back to his usual blue hating self, “Because then we’d be outnumbered and the blues would surely take the advantage!” He stamped his foot. “Come 'ere Lopez, let’s get this out of you and back where it belongs.”

"Gracias a Dios" Lopez sat quickly.

“When you get it out, can I put it in Simmons?!” Donut chimed in.

“No!” Simmons shot at Donut. He closed his eyes and prayed that when he woke up everything would be back to the way it was always meant to be.

* * *

 

With his head aching, Grif kept his eyes tightly shut. There were hands on his head, he could feel someone straddling him, yelling at him.  _Goddammit if it’s Donut again…_ He didn’t know where that threat ended. He kept his eyes shut. He could feel grass in his hands and the sun on his body. The sun…

“Simmons!” His eyes shot open, maybe he wasn’t gone, maybe he could stop him. But then, who was this? It couldn’t be. “Simmons?” Grif leaned forward, grabbing the helmet and looking deeply into the visor trying to see the eyes. He would know it it was his Simmons if he could see into his eyes.

“Hey Grif.” In an awkward motion, Simmons pulled the helmet off and looked sheepishly at the ground. His red hair was stuck up in cowlicks and his face was a bright shade of red. “I’m back, Grif. And I’m so, so, so sorry for everything. I understand if you’re pissed, or you hate me, or you never want to see me again, or if you want me to leave, or if you just need time, or if-”

Grif grabbed his face and pulled their foreheads close. His eyes pored deep into Simmons’ though Simmons’ refused to meet his.

“Are you really back?” Grif whispered. When Simmons finally brought his eyes to reach Grif’s, Grif let out a little yelp. He knew, he was back. “It is you! Fuck dude, you’re back!” Grif pulled himself into Simmons, resting his head against his chest and taking deep sobs and inhaling more than he was exhaling.

“I… I missed you too, fatass.” Simmons planted a kiss on top of Grif’s head, letting his fingers run through his hair.

“If you’re wonderin’ how it happened, it was very difficult and very technical and your pea brain wouldn’t understand it!” Sarge called from out of view. Grif didn’t care, he just kept holding on to Simmons and sobbing.

“Actually!” Donut was there too, “All of Simmons’ memories after the original operation are stored on a memory card. So Sarge gave it to Simmons, then he gave it to Lopez, and then finally he gave it back to Simmons! He let me help, I pounded it in for good measure.”

“Oh my god.” Simmons froze. “Don’t ever let Sarge into my brain again.” He added in a quiet voice singularly for Grif. Grif nodded hard but didn’t let go of Simmons. “I think it’s time you get some good sleep.”

With little convincing, Simmons got Grif to go to bed. His breath tasted like whiskey but Simmons didn’t mind. He had quite a few days of kissing to make up for and the sting of alcohol on his tongue wasn’t going to stop him now. Simmons ran his metal hand through Grif’s hair. He wanted to yell at him to sleep but he knew it wouldn’t be long until his body took over and just put him out, so he could afford to let Grif just stare at him and smile.

“Hold on,” Simmons said, turning to free his cyborg arm. He clicked a few buttons and then started out, “Simmons log...206? I lost track and will report on the events that caused it in a future log…” He looked down to see Grif’s eyes closed. “Simmons, this is Simmons. You might not say it that often, and you might not always like him, but you love Dexter Grif. You love that he’s funny, and persistent, and loves you in his own, stupid, horrible ways. It is your job to protect him. It is your job to love him. Don’t let anyone get in your fucking way, you hear me, Simmons! Grif is… the only thing that matters. Log over.” Grif smiled secretively. He didn’t care about the nightmare over Sidewinder anymore. He had survived a real, waking nightmare. The Meta could throw anything at him, Simmons would be there to help him pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! I hope y'all enjoyed, this has been a real pleasure getting the opportunity to rewrite and expand on so much. I'd like to leave you with one last image:
> 
> Throughout the entirety of this story, Lopez wandering around trying to get ANYONE to help him get Simmons' memories out of his head. I kept trying to figure out how to get some good funny lines about him being cursed with the image of naked Grif but none of them fit in right. So just, Lopez, head in hands, imploring people to save him from the fat orange one's ass.


End file.
